


Since We've No Place To Go

by TheDVirus



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Arkham Asylum, Christmas Dinner, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Music, Christmas Smut, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Kissing, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Smut, Kissing, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 16:53:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12892446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDVirus/pseuds/TheDVirus
Summary: Ed and Oswald spend Christmas Eve in Arkham Asylum under lockdown.





	Since We've No Place To Go

Ed exhaled harshly into his cupped hands, pacing from wall to wall in his Arkham cell.  
It was snowing outside, feather light flakes whirling past the bars on his window.  
Ed took a break to breathe on the window and idly drew a question mark in the condensation. It made a change from the tally marks bedecking the wall above his cold bed.  
Arkham never felt warm.  
Not even on Christmas Eve it seemed.

Tucking his hands beneath his armpits, Ed wished he still had the sweater Oswald had brought him during his last tenure in the asylum.  
Oswald had been crestfallen to find he had overestimated the size but Ed remembered being grateful for the extra material. It meant the sweater could fit over his thin prison uniform, increasing the warmth afforded by the warm material. Ed had noticed how expensive the sweater had been from its label but Oswald had waved the cost away like it meant nothing.  
Ed reflected sourly on how Oswald had probably burnt the sweater. 

It seemed that no matter what Ed did, fate was determined to fling he and Oswald together somehow.

Oswald had been brought to Arkham a week after Ed. Nobody was sure why and Oswald had made it clear he wasn’t interested in discussing it. He kept himself to himself, like Ed, and only participated in group therapy and the craft sessions because he had to.  
When he had been brought in, he hadn’t looked at Ed once.  
That was fine with Ed: he had no interest in saying anything to the man who had ruined his life.

But a few days ago, Ed had been forced to interact with Oswald.  
It had been during their designated exercise in the yard. Each inmate was to walk or run a circuit of the yard before everyone could return inside. Ed usually walked as slowly as possible, to cherish whatever precious moments of fresh air Arkham’s oppressive system granted him but the chill in the air had been so intense he had jogged the whole way around the painted square marking the corners of the yard. Then he had patiently stood in line with the others, waiting to return inside. Except they didn’t.  
Curious at the delay, Ed had glanced back just in time to see Oswald, the final straggler, stumble and fall hard on the icy ground. That had generated a ripple of laughter amongst the other inmates which had made Ed’s skin crawl. The laughter had only intensified when they watched Oswald struggle to rise and fall back down, his leg at an odd angle. Ed’s hands curled into fists as he watched, trying to ignore the anger rising in his chest.  
It was nothing to do with whatever friendship he may have had with Oswald once. Ed knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of cruel laughter. Especially when Oswald’s damaged leg was what was being mocked, not anything he had done! Ed had been hurt most by Oswald. If he didn’t find this amusing then nobody should! Besides, the longer the peanut gallery hooted and guffawed, the longer they would be outside in the cold.  
So Ed had done the only logical thing.  
He had left the line and helped Oswald up.

When he had offered his hand, Oswald had scowled at him but not with anger. More annoyance and resentment at his own body failing him. Ed had seen that look often when they had lived together at Oswald’s mansion. He had helped Oswald bathe and warm his injured leg a couple of times, swollen and reddened because of bad weather.  
After a moment’s hesitation, Oswald had taken Ed’s hand and Ed had used his shoulder to support Oswald as they had begun the walk back to the line avoiding the more treacherous patches of ice

‘Don’t read into this’, Ed had ordered Oswald, keeping his eyes ahead, ‘I just want to go back inside’.

Oswald hadn't said anything.  
When they were finally within Arkham’s walls once more, Oswald had abruptly let go of Ed and begun the lonely walk back to his cell, using the safety rails set into the walls for support.  
Oswald hadn’t looked back once.  
It wasn’t until he had turned a corner and vanished from sight that Ed had realised he had watched him go.  
Since that day, Oswald hadn’t returned to the yard, evidently deciding that his leg was too unreliable for the exercise to do him any good.

The only other time Ed saw Oswald was at lunch.  
Like Ed, Oswald favoured sitting alone to eat, no doubt trying to block out the ‘ambient’ noise of several dozen lunatics trying to negotiate the minefield of mashed potato, plastic kitchen cutlery and whatever polite, semi lucid, conversation they were capable of.  
Usually lunch was uneventful. Ed just swallowed whatever bland, lukewarm food was put in front of him then waited to be taken back to his cell.

But lunch earlier that day had been very different.  
Cornelius Stirk had decided both that Ed had somehow offended him and that he wanted to add him to his lunch menu.  
Ironically, being admitted to the asylum with much more unhinged and physically intimidating people had helped Ed recover from the psychosomatic effects of being frozen by Victor Fries. He had forced himself to think of his brain was like a muscle and, like a cold muscle, Ed had exercised it vigorously to plan ahead and protect himself from any unwarranted attention or attack.  
He had devoted extra time since Oswald’s arrival to formulating possible scenarios to protect himself from any reprisal that the Penguin may have cooked up but now it seemed he had been wasting his time.  
He should have been worrying about the more immediate and thuggish threat of Stirk.

Ed knew how to handle and manipulate most of the more ‘high risk’ inmates to avoid confrontation.  
Stirk remained an exception.  
Stirk, no doubt emboldened by Strange and Peabody’s former employment of him as an attack dog made a point of throwing his not inconsiderable weight around each rare time he was allowed out of solitary confinement. This time he had designated Ed as a chosen target and Ed had looked up from his cooling meal to see Stirk smirking at him, pointed, yellowed teeth glistening.  
Ed, to his embarrassment, had frozen.  
Unpleasant memories of both being forced to share a cell with the cannibal and memories of suffering humiliation at the hands of bullies in his school cafeteria blocked out any strategies trying to form in his brain.  
Stirk had embarked on a nonsensical rant about Ed sitting at ‘his table’, picking up Ed’ tray and throwing it away with a clang. Ed’s eyes had glanced from side to side, wondering why there was never a guard or orderly around when you really needed one and caught Oswald’s eye.  
As he saw Stirk’s meaty hand reaching for his neck out of the corner of his eye, he saw Oswald cock his arm back and throw something.  
Ed’s eyes followed the object and he realised it was a glass of milk.  
He had watched it smash as it impacted Stirk’s head, the maniac’s eyes widening in shock just as a dozen glass fragments fell into his face.  
The bloodied and blinded Stirk had howled like a wounded animal (fittingly) which had had the effect of galvanising some of the more excitable inmates into action. A massive foodfight had broken out and as Ed had desperately sought shelter as the guards had rushed in to restore order, he had met Oswald’s eyes for the briefest of moments through the chaos before he had lost sight of him.

Ed was broken out of his reverie by the distant sound of singing beginning to echo down the halls.  
He shook his head scornfully.  
The asylum Christmas Pageant was obviously going ahead despite the riot in the lunchroom. It was a seasonal variety act organised by inmates (under strict supervision) that celebrated Christmas by performing songs, plays, etc. It was supposed to encourage camaraderie and therapy but in reality it was just a flagrant attempt to procure some desperately needed good press and extra funding.  
That was why, at that morning’s ‘sharing circle’, it had been stated that whilst participation was not compulsory, attendance was.

The ‘sharing circle’ was a daily opportunity for prisoners to talk about how they were doing and for the staff to suggest activities or changes to routine.  
Oswald’s presence at the session had surprised Ed as he and Oswald were typically kept apart from each other by design.  
Their feud was well documented and the doctors had no desire to ‘agitate’ things without cause but Jerome had escaped the previous night and as a result, the psychiatrist who usually hosted the other circle was ‘indisposed’.  
So, the groups had been merged for the day to avoid disruption to the prison’s carefully maintained routine. And that routine enjoyed struggling to sit through a five hour revue of convicted maniacs trying to juggle or play the xylophone.

‘After all’, the too cheery psychiatrist had laughed, ‘Where else do you have to be tonight?’

This presumption of this and the utter futility of trying to enhance a black pit like Arkham with ‘festive cheer’ had led Ed to bluntly decline the chance to participate. He had imagined he was slicing through the psychiatrist’s smile with a knife as he had inscribed a thick black ‘x’ on the sign up sheet.  
Oswald had caught his eye when the clipboard was passed to him, eyebrow raised slightly in a questioning expression.  
As they had begun to file out under the watchful eye of the guards, Oswald had managed to fall in behind Ed.

‘I thought you liked to show off’, Oswald had whispered.

‘I didn’t see you signing up’, Ed had replied tersely.

‘I have plans’.

Ed could hear the grin in Oswald’s words but before he could turn and ask what Oswald meant, their paths had diverged towards their respective cells.

 

‘Plans’, Ed repeated, watching his misty breath rise towards the dark ceiling.  
Before he could wonder more about what Oswald may have meant, Ed heard the sharp tapping of a guard’s footsteps approaching in the corridor.  
Ed instinctively sat on the cold bed, quietly waiting for the guard to inevitably march him down to the show. Most of the other guards would be downstairs already, trying to keep a grip on the chaos of the Christmas Show. Lunatics dressed in tinsel surrounded by open candles and aerosols full of fake snow: what could possibly go wrong?  
The guard stopped outside Ed’s cell and Ed rose slowly as he heard a key click in the lock, bracing himself for an excruciating evening.

 

‘Thank you. That’s all’, Oswald said dismissively.

The guard nodded and left Ed standing in Oswald’s cell. Ed heard the lock click shut and, whilst he was confused about why the guard had brought him here, he reasoned there were worse places to be.  
Oswald’s room was very different than Ed’s monastic cell.  
For a start, it was warm. An electric heater pumping warm air into the room made Ed’s frozen fingers tingle. Ed moved cautiously forward, closer to the heater without being too obvious about it.  
Oswald was not looking at him. 

There was a small table set for two people with two mismatched chairs on either side. Two lit candles with holly wrapped around their holders cast warm, flickering shadows on the walls. There was a plate of sliced turkey meat, roast potatoes, stuffing and Oswald was opening a plastic bowl of mixed vegetables. Oswald had even managed to procure two bottles of mulled wine and a boat of steaming gravy.

‘Some people smuggle in cigarettes’, Ed remarked, swallowing a grateful sigh as sensation began to creep back into his fingers, ‘Not a Victorian Christmas dinner’.

‘I’m pretty sure I know which one’s tastier’, Oswald replied, taking a seat.

‘So, what? I sit here and watch you eat?’ Ed said, folding his arms, ‘Is this what you meant earlier when you said you ‘had plans’? Because even for you this is petty. You’ve truly outdone yourself’.

Oswald smirked as Ed’s stomach suddenly growled loud enough for both of them to hear, interrupting Ed’s condemnation. Ed tries to ignore it, his sense of regret at skipping the pathetic asylum Christmas dinner worsening in the presence of this banquet. After all, thanks to Stirk, he had been forced to skip lunch.

‘Are you finished?’ Oswald asked with icy politeness, ‘Yes, this is what I meant but I miscalculated. There’s too much food for just me’.

‘What am I doing here Oswald?’ Ed asked, idly rotating the end of a Christmas cracker so it spun in place on the table.

‘You may not like Christmas but I know you do like good food’, Oswald said simply, pouring two glasses of wine, ‘I think my company’s a small price to pay for you to enjoy some for a change’.

Oswald offered Ed a glass of wine. Ed hesitated and Oswald placed it on the table, beginning to help himself to some turkey.

‘Unless of course’, Oswald teased, ‘You aren’t urgently needed to terrorise the population of Whoville?’

‘That depends on whether you can slot me in between your meetings with the Ghost of Christmas Past and Present’, Ed replied tartly.

‘No because I’m not a miser’, Oswald shrugged obviously, ‘Now, are you going to sit down and eat or do you want to go watch the Christmas show?’

Ed sat down. The change of perspective allowed him to see that Oswald had even hung tinsel from the roof.  
Why had he gone to all this effort for one meal?

‘Nobody should be alone on Christmas’, Oswald said, handing Ed the plate of turkey, ‘It’s depressing’.

‘We’re not friends’, Ed said pointedly, accepting the plate.

‘Never said we were’, Oswald replied, eyes narrowing, ‘But we are both alone in here. We can at least be allies of convenience’.

Ed understood the logic of that.

‘Is this because I helped you the other day in the yard?’ he asked.

‘I repaid you for that in the lunch room today. You’re welcome by the way’.

‘How did you get all of this in here?’ Ed asked, pouring gravy over his turkey.

‘The Christmas bonuses for the guards here are less than generous. Sprout?’

‘No thanks. I hate sprouts’, Ed said with distaste, eyeing the offending green orbs.

‘I thought not’, Oswald sighed, not taking any for himself, ‘I don’t know anyone who likes sprouts’.

‘Then why smuggle them in?’

Oswald looked blankly at the sprouts, apparently at a loss to explain the reason for their presence if their destiny was to remain uneaten.

‘Because its Christmas I suppose?’ he shrugged.

Both men burst out laughing, the utter absurdity of their entire situation finally becoming too much to ignore.  
When each one realised the other was laughing, they looked away bashfully.  
It felt like breaking a rule somehow to feel so relaxed in each other’s company.  
But the feeling was so good it simply reinforced that rules (especially unwritten ones) were made to be broken.  
Ed was the first to persist in the casual disregard for the enmity he and Oswald had spent so long cultivating by picking up a green Christmas cracker.

‘Since we’re here?’ he prompted, offering one end to Oswald.

 

‘All I’m saying is that answer doesn’t make any sense!’

Oswald laughed, the paper crown on his head titled at a comical angle.

‘Don’t take it personally Ed’ he giggled, ‘They’re jokes not riddles after all’.

‘True’, Ed conceded, throwing the crumpled up joke he had taken from the inside of the cracker onto his empty plate, ‘To be honest I think the wine’s going to my head’.

‘About time’, Oswald said, flicking one empty bottle, ‘We’ve nearly finished it’.

Ed cast a glance over the table. The roast turkey dinner had been decimated. Even the sprouts had been eaten, offered as forfeits for failing to guess the punchline of each joke in a cracker.  
Ed took advantage of Oswald’s distraction as he poured the last of the wine into their glasses to procure an adequately sized piece of paper from a torn cracker.  
Oswald placed Ed’s glass back in front of him as Ed presented what he had assembled for him beneath the table.

‘I remember that!’ Oswald cried upon catching sight of the origami penguin perching on the table.

‘Do you like it?’ Ed asked.

‘I always did’, Oswald smiled, holding the little bird up to admire it, ‘I still have the original’.

‘You do?’ Ed asked, unsure if Oswald was joking or not.

He knew Oswald retained his sentimental streak but to keep such a small token after all this time?  
Oswald blinked, his expression signalling he felt he had just given away a titbit of important information. He put the penguin back down on the table.

‘Ed, why don’t you like Christmas?’ Oswald asked delicately.

Ed considered the question but answered honestly.  
What harm could it do to tell him? He had asked earlier after all.

‘Christmas is great if you have someone to share it with’, Ed replied robotically, ‘I never did. Simple as that’.

‘I know what you mean. I used to have my moth-‘

Oswald stopped, mouth growing tight as he removed the paper crown perched on his head.

‘This light is getting to my eyes’, he said, wiping at them with a napkin.

Ed suddenly felt a stab of regret for his words upon first entering the cell.  
It was true.  
Oswald had invited him here because he was lonely.

‘Come on, don’t get maudlin’, Ed said in a pacifying tone, ‘I didn’t mean to upset you’.

‘At least we’ve had a nice evening’, Oswald said, a sad smile on his face, ‘Somehow. Despite everything’.

‘What do you mean ‘had’?’

‘You haven’t had a nice time?’

‘No! No I have! I meant why did you say ‘had’? Do you want me to leave?’

‘No!’ Oswald exclaimed, ‘Never!’

‘Never?’ Ed asked, intrigued by the passion in Oswald’s voice.

‘I-I mean-That’s not’, Oswald shook his head, flustered, ‘Do-do you want to leave?’

Ed couldn’t look at the naked hope in Oswald’s eyes, so he looked up at the decorations he had noticed earlier.  
That was when he saw it.  
A seemingly innocuous sprig of-

‘Mistletoe’, Ed observed, heart hammering as he realised the implications of its position overhead.

From the start Oswald gave as he noticed it, Ed realised it hadn’t been put there on purpose. He wondered why that made him feel sad.  
The wine had gone to his head after all.  
And seemingly to Oswald’s.

This was obvious from the kiss Oswald suddenly planted on Ed’s cheek without warning.  
Ed gasped, taken aback by Oswald’s forwardness.  
But not unpleasantly so.  
Oswald nodded, as if in confirmation about what he had just done and as if to reinforce he had no regrets about it.

‘That’s all you’re getting’, Oswald deadpanned, ‘Next time, you buy me dinner’.

Oswald made to get up but halted, sitting back down abruptly.  
Ed watched with concern as Oswald, brow furrowed, tried to rise again, his tipsy state exacerbating his balance issues.  
Ed got up as Oswald took a few halting, swaying steps.  
Oswald waved his hand away.

‘You don’t have to help’, Oswald said, resignedly.

Ed sighed.  
Typical Oswald. Ignore pain and try to power through it rather than treat it.

‘I know’, Ed replied gently, ‘But I remember how painful it can be’.

‘We both know it’s just the weather’, Oswald said with forced brightness, ‘I’m fine. Really’.

They stood for a moment, both knowing it was late and time to think about returning to their self-imposed solitude. It was inevitable but neither of them had expected to feel so disappointed their time together was over.

‘How long do we have before the guard takes me back to my cell?’ Ed asked, thinking despairingly of the cold, empty room waiting for him in the other wing.

‘From the sounds of things we’ll have a while yet’, Oswald said drily, cupping an ear to signal Ed should listen.

Ed focused and became aware of distant sounds of commotion.  
The lower level alarm was blaring, the echoes bouncing off the sterile walls. Ed assumed that the lack of similar klaxon sound on their floor meant some enlightened inmate had already disabled it.  
Even as he tried to listen harder, a red light began to flash in the room.  
Looking up at the wall, both men saw the red alarm light was flashing.

‘Lockdown’, Ed identified, knowing that thanks to the security alert it was unlikely he would be returning to his cell before morning.  
He decided in the same heartbeat that this turn of events didn’t bother him in the slightest.

‘In that case, uh, do-do you want the bed?’

Ed turned at Oswald’s nervous tone and he cast a glance at the bed set against the wall then at Oswald’s knee.  
Ed knew logically Oswald was the one who should take the bed: with his injured leg, sleeping on the floor was out of the question but he already anticipated that Oswald would refuse. Oswald’s pride would either prevent him or Ed’s status as a technical ‘guest’ to whom courtesies should be extended.  
However, Ed’s mind, adrift on a sea of warm alcoholic vapours and the glow of the light kiss earlier, offered a different, more tantalising solution.

‘Penguins huddle together for body heat’, Ed said, walking to the bed, ‘We should do the same’.

‘Are you sure?’

Ed nodded, pulling back the thin blanket.  
Oswald’s lack of resistance to the idea was encouraging and before long, both of them were lying facing each other. Oswald’s back was to the wall, Ed head resting slightly above his due to their height difference.  
Despite the size of the bed, there was a noticeable sliver of unoccupied sheet between them. A visible barrier that both had silently agreed upon.  
It was warm and soft beneath the blanket with the unspoken yet familiar comfort of being with another person.

‘You know: if you ignore the screaming, the red alarm’s almost like Christmas lights’, Oswald remarked.

Ed looked up at the alarm light and nodded in silent agreement. It reminded him of the whirling lights he sometimes saw in department stores.

‘It’s getting worse out there’, Oswald added, hunkering further down in the blanket.

Ed sensed the hesitant way Oswald gingerly moved his legs.

‘Your knee?’ Ed asked.

Oswald looked away self consciously.  
Ed reached beneath the blanket and located Oswald’s knee. Oswald winced as Ed’s fingers began to apply gentle pressure to it, fingertips swirling to massage the inflamed tissue.  
As he looked over his shoulder, through the window, he saw that Oswald was right.  
The storm outside was worsening: the howling wind was actually drowning out the commotion from downstairs.

Oswald exhaled shakily and, Ed in a bid to distract Oswald from the pain began to sing ‘Let It Snow’.

As he finished a few seconds later, Oswald sighed in a much lighter tone.

‘I love it when you sing’, he whispered, ‘Such a beautiful sound in such an awful place’.

Ed smiled as a warmth rose in him at the compliment. He remembered singing with Oswald in his apartment.  
It seemed so long ago now.  
Another life.

‘I don’t mind the view’, Ed said honestly then added, ‘Or the company’.

Oswald’s eyes widened and he gave a small, nervous, laugh.

‘I think someone’s had a little too much to drink’, Oswald said teasingly, beginning to pull his knee away from Ed’s hands.

But as Oswald stirred, Ed’s retreating fingers brushed against something.  
Something hard.  
Oswald blushed scarlet and began to apologise profusely.

‘I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to ruin things! I can’t help it! It’s just been so long since…’

Oswald trailed off miserably, wilting under Ed’s stare.  
He tried to pull away again and froze when he felt Ed touch his erection once more. He began to breathe heavily as Ed’s fingers drifted along its length back and forth.

‘Since you’ve felt warm’, Ed said, bringing Oswald’s sentence to a close, ‘I know. Believe me, I know’.

With shaking fingers, Oswald reached between Ed’s legs and discovered to his utter surprise and delight that Ed was hard too.  
Their eyes met.  
Dark looked into light: Ed’s half hooded gaze pleading and Oswald’s eyelashes flickering over his widened, glassy stare.

‘Ed, may I-?’ Oswald began thickly but Ed interrupted.

‘Yes’, he whispered, licking his lips, ‘Oh God, yes’.

Their fingers fumbled as they both undid each other’s flies and reached inside.  
Ed gasped at Oswald’s impossibly cool fingers and Oswald’s head lolled back as Ed’s long hands took hold of his pulsing member.  
As Ed felt the fingers of Oswald’s other hand caress his balls, he mimicked the gesture, earning an almost trill like noise from Oswald.  
Ed supposed he should feel some hesitation, after all it was his first time ever doing this with a man, but the noises Oswald was making was like an irresistible siren song, begging Ed to continue.  
As Oswald began to swirl a thumb around his head, Ed’s doubts were obliterated as a creeping, warm haze began to flood his system.  
Oswald, realising Ed was content to mimic him began to pump, his impatience driving him on.

‘It’s only ever been you Ed’, Oswald whispered frantically, ‘Only _you_ make me feel-ah!-like this!’

‘Just don’t stop’, Ed commanded, ‘And I won’t ei-either-ah~fuck…’

Oswald melted into Ed’s touch at that low growl, speeding up the pace of his own pumping.  
Ed inhaled through clenched teeth, hips bucking automatically.  
Desperately chasing the electric sensations flooding his system, Oswald bucked his own hips in rhythm with Ed. Oswald layered his good knee over Ed and used it to draw him closer, eyeing him hungrily, savouring every small detail.  
A few strands of Ed’s hair curled against his sweat slicked forehead and his sharp white teeth poked out from between his lips. 

Reaching over with his free hand, Ed caressed Oswald’s ass cheek, making his partner shudder and sigh longingly.  
Oswald’s pupils were blown wide as they gazed up at Ed and Ed felt himself drawn down as if by a physical, magnetic force.  
He kissed Oswald on the mouth, their tongues lashing and grips on each other’s cocks tightening as they entered the end game. 

Oswald nipped at Ed’s bruised lips as he felt the threshold rising up before him, his whole body alive with heat and sensation.  
Yes. Alive! Ed made him feel so alive!

Ed abandoned all restraint as he felt Oswald moan into his mouth, the low noise seeming to reverberate through his very bones, making his heart sing as it pounded against his ribs.

Both of them were moaning now, noises of sheer exaltation and erotic desire echoing from the walls to create a chorus of longing and arousal.  
It built and built until it seemed Ed and Oswald were alone at the eye of a tornado of sensation and warmth and heavenly noises and-!

They came at the same time, collapsing together in climax as their grips weakened. Gasping, they clutched each other in the darkness as they rode out their mutual orgasm. They lay for a moment, silent and still, just looking at each other.  
Finally, Ed reached behind him and procured some tissues from a box on the bedside table. He offered one to Oswald and they cleaned each other. They threw the tissues away onto the floor.  
They could be dealt with later.

‘Oswald?’ Ed asked, as he settled back into position.

‘I know’, Oswald said emotionlessly, ‘Don’t read too much into it. We’ve both had a lot to drink and-’

Oswald’s lips snapped shut as he felt the gentle pressure of Ed’s fingertip on them.

‘I was going to say ‘Merry Christmas’’, Ed smiled, closing his eyes as he laid his head down on the pillow.

Oswald snuggled in close and smiled as he felt Ed wrap an arm around him protectively. 

‘Merry Christmas Ed’, Oswald replied.


End file.
